


Maybe It Can Be Real

by weezabeth



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Growing Up Together, Healing, Married Life, Post-Book 3: Mockingjay, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weezabeth/pseuds/weezabeth
Summary: The last eight years my world has been a crazy storm with a million things flying around here and there, but one thing was continually constant: Peeta was always the calm center of the storm. Whenever I needed to find solace, I could look to him and find it. It's worth more to me than he could ever know."I love you," I blurt.He smiles softly and cups my cheek. "I love you."----The war is won, Katniss is back in 12, and Peeta is trying to rid himself of the flashbacks. Together, they are trying to fix their relationship - whatever it was. Yeah, we know it happens, but how? What happened in the jump between the end of 'Mockingjay' and the epilogue? That's what this story is about. It will walk you through the empty space between the end of the book and the epilogue, and beyond. Sticks to canon as much as possible.----Please read first "chapter" to get more info and learn why it is so short right now.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Kudos: 4





	Maybe It Can Be Real

First written on Wattpad when I was in 8th grade. It did fairly well despite being unfinished. I'm now in college, and it's pretty bad in hindsight (shocker). I've been thinking about rewriting it for here because I still love these characters and this story, and this is me creating it at 3:14 am as I procrastinate writing an essay while sussing out if I want to dedicate the time to revise. We'll see - please go check the rest out on my Wattpad account (same username: weezabeth) if it tickles your fancy. If you would like to read a rewritten version with a much more mature (and ideally better) author, please drop a dime and let me know. Revising would require me to reread it, and I'm not sure if I can handle the cringe (euch). Comments have been known to kick my ass into gear and get it done, though. (Why have I used so many parentheses in such a short span?)

Update: I have reread the trilogy, taken notes, and am currently rereading my previous story to take notes on that. I will then begin rewriting and updating! Thank you for your patience! I am so excited to start this.

\----

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games twice. I escaped. I started a rebellion. Peeta was taken prisoner. He was hijacked. He was rescued. My sister was killed by a bomb. It might've been Gale's bomb. I'm at home, waiting for Peeta to return. I don't know what will happen when he returns.

My monologue runs through my head all day, every day. That, along with the rope that Finnick gave me, is the only thing keeping me sane. I sit on my couch staring at the wall, repeating my monologue silently, tying knots in my rope. My hands are raw from handling the rope so much.

Greasy Sae checks on me everyday, but it doesn't help my growing depression. I don't think I will get out of this slump. Ever. Peeta wou-

Peeta.

I shut my eyes and start hyperventilating. My fingers fly around the rope to try and tie myself together. Every time I think of him I do this. The guilt crushes down on me, feels like an anvil sitting on my chest. It's my fault he was taken prisoner. It's my fault he was hijacked. It's my fault he has horrible flashbacks.

After a few more minutes of this, I open my eyes. I look to my right and see a stack of letters from an assortment of people. I stick out a trembling hand to grab the one on top, but I recoil at the last second.

I don't want to read a single word anyone wrote me. They send words of encouragement with good intentions, but it doesn't help. They just don't understand me. No one except for.... him.

My fingers start to tie faster and my breathing gets more labored, but after a moment I'm able to pull myself together.

I set the rope on the ground and rest my head on the cushion, sure to be woken up by awful nightmares soon. I don't want to witness the horror that I call my past in dream form, but when I'm not having nightmares, sleeping provides a short escape from my depression.


End file.
